


Don't You Cry No More

by FagurFiskur



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FagurFiskur/pseuds/FagurFiskur
Summary: It’s been three weeks since Chuck’s defeat and life has settled into a routine. Or maybe not a routine so much as a holding-pattern because Dean will be fucked if this becomes his new status quo.*A rewrite of the Supernatural finale. Takes elements from the episode but shapes them into a different story.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 120
Kudos: 824
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	Don't You Cry No More

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to everyone who found the Supernatural finale dissatisfying! (So... all of us?) I was fueled by disappointment with the finale, love for the characters and extreme pettiness to finish this whole thing in one day. It doesn't quite stand on its own - a couple of scenes bank on you having watched the finale to follow what's going on - but I wanted to finish this quick and if I was gonna do a proper rewrite of the finale, I probably wouldn't have included one single element from it tbh.
> 
> Huge thanks to tlakhtwritesdestiel for beta reading on extremely short notice and giving me the encouragement needed to finish this so quick! Title from Carry On My Wayward Son because, duh!

It’s been three weeks since Chuck’s defeat and life has settled into a routine. Or maybe not a routine so much as a holding-pattern because Dean will be fucked if this becomes his new status quo.

He gets up at eight. The first thing he did, the first day they were back in the bunker after everything went down, was set his alarm clock. Dean needs this bit of structure, needs something that will get him out of bed feeling semi-normal every morning. Miracle helps, rushing in every morning at the sound of the alarm, and yeah, Dean had been as surprised as anyone to find himself attached to a dog, but it can’t be helped. The mutt is just too lovable.

He goes to the kitchen, cooks breakfast. Sam is usually out on a run and most mornings, Eileen is in the kitchen already, coffee brewing. Dean greets her with a kiss on the cheek - another crucial part of his new routine/holding-pattern, making sure he touches someone first thing in the morning. That’s less about structure and more about reminding himself that he’s human. Sam gets a pat on the back when he gets back from his run, and a one-armed hug once he’s actually showered. By then, breakfast is usually ready. 

They dig in together, discuss their plans for the day, which inevitably involve a few hours in the Men of Letters' library. Sometimes, they’ll hit the road for a hunt or to follow up on a clue, but most of their time and energy goes towards research. Three weeks in, Dean can tell that Sam and Eileen are getting tired of it, but neither one of them complains and he doesn’t bring it up. Quitting now is not an option.

Cas ain’t gonna rescue himself from the Empty.

*

“Well, this has been a productive day.”

Dean slams shut the book he was reading, an old tome that should probably be handled with more care than he currently is, but he can’t say he cares. It’s an enochian text and it looked promising at first but so far it’s yielding nothing and Dean is getting a headache translating as he goes.

Sam and Eileen exchange looks. 

“We’ll find something tomorrow,” Sam says, and it’s less convincing than it was the day before, than the day before, than the day before. 

Eileen smiles but doesn’t offer any empty words of comfort. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

She stands and Sam grabs her hand as she goes, pressing a kiss against it. Dean looks away, but he knows Sam is signing something to her.

She leaves and a strange silence descends over the room. Dean fiddles with his thumbs, not looking in Sam’s direction, then sighs and reaches for the enochian text.

Sam clears his throat. “Dean. I, uh, I think we need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Dean asks, thumbing through the pages without really looking at them.

“We need to discuss the possibility that there- that there isn’t a way to get him back.”

Dean slams the book shut. Anger flares up in his chest, hot and demanding, then dies down just as quick. It’s hard for him to hold onto any emotion these days. “What are you saying, Sam? That we should give up?”

“No!” Sam raises his hands. “No, I’m not saying that. It’s just… it’s been three weeks. And none of our leads have been panning out. Rowena can’t help us, Jack is completely hands-off… we can keep trying, and we should, but not forever. Not at the expense of you moving on with your life.”

Dean stares at the table. If he could, he’s sure he would’ve burnt a hole into it by now. Nothing Sam is saying is surprising, exactly, but it still hurts to hear. It’s something that’s been stirring in Dean’s head, a thought he hasn’t allowed himself to think.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is soft, pleading. Dean finally looks up and instantly regrets it, seeing the full-force of Sam’s sad puppy-dog eyes. “Cas wouldn’t want this for you.”

It’s a low blow. Dean wants to tear Sam a new one for even going there, but he can’t bring himself to. 

“Just-” his voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again. “Gimme one week before we talk about this. Just one more week.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, of course.”

He gets up, pulls Dean into a crushing hug. Dean hugs him back, tight, then pats his back. “C’mon, you big girl, don’t keep your girlfriend waiting.”

“You’re gonna go to bed soon?” Sam asks, pulling away.

“Yeah, in a couple of minutes. Just gonna finish this page first.”

He waits until Sam is gone, until he hears the doors of his bedroom shut behind him, then closes the book again. It’s useless, anyway. He brings his hands together, fingers intertwined, and closes his eyes.

“Cas, you out there? I don’t know if you can hear me - probably not - but I figured I’d give you an update. Day twenty-two, nothing so far, but I’ve got a real good feeling about tomorrow.” 

Dean snorts. “Okay, you can probably tell that’s a lie. But it’s only a matter of time. We’re gonna get you out of there, and-” he hesitates. This isn’t something he wants to tell Cas over prayer, even if he could spit it out and even if Cas could hear him. “We’re gonna get you out. Just hang tight.”

He pauses. This hasn’t worked so far, but what the hell.

“Jack? Uh, our son who art in heaven? You hearin’ me, buddy? We’re hitting a lot of dead ends here, could really use some help on the Cas-rescue mission. I know you’re busy, y’know, being God and you promised not to mess with us on account of free will but Cas’ whole deal - that happened before all that went down. There’s a loophole there, right? Something to exploit?”

Dean cracks open an eye. Nothing. But then, he wasn’t really expecting it. He releases his hands, leans back in his chair. His gums are tingling and he has a sudden, overwhelming desire to grab the nearest bottle of whiskey and drink until he can’t see straight.

But, no. Cas needs him on his A-game. 

*

“I’ve got something.”

By the tone of Sam’s voice, Dean can already tell it has nothing to do with Cas or the Empty. He doesn’t sound nearly excited enough.

“Yeah?”

“Family of four in Canton, Ohio. Parents were murdered, Dad’s blood drained and Mom’s tongue cut out. The kids...”

Dean leans forward in his chair. Next to him Eileen does the same. “Yeah?”

Sam grimaces. “Disappeared. Taken, it looks like.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathes.

Sam nods grimly. “What do you say, Dean, you in?”

“What?” Dean blinks. Since the whole Chuck thing went down, Sam and Eileen have been handling the few hunts that have come their way. Dean hasn’t left the bunker for more than a grocery run in weeks, and Sam knows that. 

“Go ahead,” Eileen says, nudging him with her elbow. “I can take care of the research by myself for a couple of days. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Dean looks between them. Both Sam and Eileen are looking at him expectantly and it hits him then that they probably planned this. Next hunt that came their way, they’d use as an excuse to get Dean out of the bunker.

A few months ago, that kind of subterfuge would have pissed him off. Now, he sees it for what it is: they’re worried about him. 

It’s a delay on his mission to get Cas out. But if it’ll get Sam and Eileen off his back, get them all recharged for more mind-numbing research, then Dean will make peace with that. Besides, it’s kids in danger. 

“Alright, fine. But you gotta remember to take Miracle-”

“On two walks daily,” Eileen finishes patiently. “I know, Dean. He’ll be fine until you get back.”

*

“Agents Singer and Kripke, mind if we take a look?”

Their sweep of the crime-scene is quick. The case is almost too easily solved. They’ve got all the pieces laid out for them already, from the murder method to the sketches of the monsters left on the scene to the notes in Dad’s journal about a similar case in the 80s. Maybe they’ve just been tangling with God-level threats for too long but Dean almost feels cheated. 

Even so, there are kids out there in danger and time is running out on getting them out unscathed. 

They manage to corner a couple of the baddies - vampires? Mimes? Mime-pires? - and one of them ever-so-graciously lives long enough to give them the location of their nest. With some encouragement, of course.

It’s a barn. It looks vaguely familiar but that doesn’t have to mean anything, since most run-down barns kind of look the same. They grab machetes from the trunk, Sam close at Dean’s back as they enter.

The barn looks empty at first glance but Dean can already tell it’s not. It’s not even hearing or seeing, it’s the feeling in the air - there’s something lurking in the shadows, just waiting to get the drop on them.

They get to the other side unscathed and there the kids are, locked up like a couple of animals in a kennel. Dean feels a rush of fury at seeing them like this but quickly smothers it for the sake of looking reassuring. They grab the kids, tell them to follow closely.

There are rustles behind them before they manage more than a few steps. 

“Run, kids,” Sam commands quietly. 

Dean raises his machete, glances behind him to make sure the kids get out, and then the vamps are on them before they can blink. It’s a quick fight, brutal, and Dean knows just two years ago he would’ve loved this. The exhilaration of it, the purity of life-and-death, kill-or-be-killed. Some part of him still sings at it, his blood rushing past his ears, but the bigger part of him is focused on the kids, did they get out, _are they safe_.

They’re winning, have beheaded most of the vamps, when one of them tackles Dean against a wooden beam. Something stings sharply and at first Dean thinks the breath has just been knocked out of him but then 

it hits.

It’s overwhelming. A searing hot pain lancing through him, pooling at his back and spilling outwards. It’s agonizing, and Dean can’t. He can’t breathe, can’t draw it in, it hurts, it hurts, _it hurts_.

The vamp charges him again but it’s head is lopped off before it reaches him. It’s just Sam and Dean standing now, and Dean is only on his feet by the grace of whatever pierced through him. It’s keeping him pinned, keeping him upright and in devastating pain, and oh.

He’s dying.

This is what dying feels like.

It’s all coming back to him. An old wound tearing open again, dragging him down, down, down.

“-ean? _Dean?!”_

Dean blinks. Sam’s hands are on him - when did that happen? - cupping his cheeks in order to keep his head upright. 

“Dean,” Sam repeats and, oh. He’s crying. Dean wants to reach out, wipe those tears away, be the big brother one last time, but he can’t. There’s no strength left in him. “H-hang on, I’ll find someone, I’ll get help-”

Sam’s hands are slipping away and Dean lets out a pained, “ _Don’t_.”

The hands stay. “Dean, you need help. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m dying,” Dean agrees. “Sam, please don’t leave. It’s not - it’s not gonna do any good. I don’t wanna die alone.”

His voice breaks as he speaks, those last words pushed out by sheer willpower. 

“Hey, I’m right here.” Sam’s peering up at him - must be crouching, the tall bastard - hands still cupping Dean’s face. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m not-”

Dean smiles. It hurts but it’s okay, because Sam smiles back, just for a second, and it’s enough. It has to be enough, because time’s running out.

“Don’t try to change this,” Dean says. “Don’t - you gotta let me go.”

If Sam has an answer, it’s lost in his sobs. Dean closes his eyes, leans into it as Sam pulls him into his arms. If this is how he’s gonna go, at least - at least he wasn’t alone.

“Dean?”

The world goes black.

*

Sam’s not sure how he gets back to the bunker. He must have driven himself because as he comes to, he’s parked in the driveway, in the driver’s seat of the Impala, but he can’t remember how he got there. 

Dean is in the backseat.

Isn’t in the backseat. It’s just a body. His brother’s gone.

He’s gone.

Sam leans against the steering wheel. He must be there a while because suddenly Eileen is there and it’s dark outside. She says something to him he can’t understand, then she’s pulling him out of his seat. He goes, stumbling against her.

“I’m sorry,” she’s saying, lips right against his ears, and she’s hugging him. When did she start hugging him? “I’m so, so sorry.”

Her voice breaks. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, wraps his arms tight around her shoulders. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. How he isn’t dead too.

*

They burn Dean at dawn, a couple of days later. 

They should have done it sooner, Sam knows, but Eileen wanted him ready to say goodbye and he wasn’t. Still isn’t, but he’s standing at least, lucid, and Eileen’s hand is warm in his own as they take a lighter to his brother.

It’s a humble funeral. Dean deserved so much more, all of the people who loved him deserved to say goodbye, but Sam can’t bring himself to prolong the process. Miracle is the only other attendant, whining plaintively and nudging his wet nose against Sam’s palm.

Sam must not be entirely lucid yet because next he knows, he’s standing in the doorway of Dean’s bedroom by himself. It looks just like Dean left it. The bed is not quite made, the closet door cracked open. Dean’s guns hang on the wall, his books lining the shelves. 

It looks like Dean just walked away. Like he could be back any moment. 

Sam steps inside. He sits down on the bed and feels painfully hollow. He’s surrounded by the home Dean was slowly building for himself and now will never get to enjoy. 

He never got to grow old. Never even got to find out what life looked like outside of Chuck’s control.

It’s not fair.

It must be an hour later that Eileen comes to get him, judging by the dried tear tracks on his face. She pulls Sam to his feet, tugs him down for a lingering kiss. 

“It will be okay,” she says. 

Sam shakes his head. “How could it be?”

She pulls back. Smiles up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Because that’s what Dean would have wanted for you.”

Sam lets out a weak laugh, recognizing his own words used against him. She has no way of knowing, of course, but doesn’t that mean something? That what he was asking of Dean, is now being asked of himself.

He doesn’t nod. Just takes Eileen’s hand, lets her lead him out of the room. They shut the door behind them and Sam knows it won’t be opened again.

It’s time to move on.

*

Dean blinks.

Well, this is familiar.

He looks down at his hands, sees the fishing rod. The pier below him is simple, rustic wood but sturdy. He’s sitting in a fold-away chair and next to him.

Next to him stands Jack.

“What the-” Dean jumps to his feet. The chair rocks at the movement, the fishing pool falling down with a thud. “Where the hell am I?”

Jack turns to him. Smiles apologetically. “I think you know.”

And yeah, Dean knows. Not like he’s forgotten what happened. The vamps, the kids in danger. Getting impaled on a rusty nail like some amateur, dying in Sam’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, looking it. “It was the only way I had of getting a hold of you.”

Dean bristles. “The only - Jack, I’m _dead_!”

“For now,” Jack agrees. “Sit down, please, let me explain.”

Dean doesn’t move. After a couple of beats, Jack sighs.

“I put rules in place, when I became God,” he starts. “Rules that even I am bound by. In hindsight, there were a couple of things I should have set right first.”

“Like Cas.”

Jack nods. “Like Castiel. I didn’t think-” he breaks off, and his demeanor shifts. Suddenly, he’s not this zen dude anymore. He looks frustrated, almost childlike, and Dean is abruptly reminded of his actual age. “I was eager to put things into their rightful place. I just wanted to allow the universe to move on unfettered, wanted to make sure that I didn’t steer things one way or another. Free will is important, you taught me that.”

Dean smiles wryly. “Being God’s not all that easy, is it?”

“No,” Jack says glumly. “Before I knew it, I had barred myself from ever visiting Earth, or the Empty. I couldn’t rescue Castiel, couldn’t help you guys at all. All I could do was move one piece of iron in one particular direction.”

Dean’s blood runs cold. “So if you hadn’t interfered-”

“You’d still be alive,” Jack admits. “But,” he adds quickly, “I can put you back. Just as soon as you’ve gotten Cas from the Empty.”

“As soon as- put me-” Dean holds up his hand. “Hang on one fucking second. I can go into the Empty?”

“I can’t go myself,” Jack explains. “But I can place someone else there. And the Empty won’t hold any control over a human soul. It will want to expel you on instinct. You should be able to fight against it long enough to get to Cas.”

Dean swallows back the ‘what if I can’t’. That’s not an option now, not with his goal so close within reach. Just one more thing left.

“And killing me? Putting me back? That’s something you can just do willy-nilly?”

“Not willy-nilly, no,” Jack says, eyebrows pinched. “If you hadn’t prayed for my intervention, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything. I don’t want to subvert your free will, Dean. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

He has no way of telling whether Jack is being honest and yet, Dean believes him. “Okay. So what’s our plan?”

“I open a portal to the Empty, and you enter it.”

Dean waits. Jack looks back at him, beaming.

“That’s it?” Dean prompts. 

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without a willing human soul. And you are the only human willing to enter the Empty, knowing the dangers.”

Dean sighs. “Okay, fair enough. Got any words of wisdom?”

“Don’t die more than you already have,” Jack offers. 

“Gotcha.”

“And bring back Cas.”

“Not advice so much as a mission statement,” Dean says behind clenched teeth.

Jack grimaces apologetically. Then he’s waving his hand, and with a motion a hole opens mid-air, dark and slimy-looking.

“Good luck,” Jack says.

Dean turns to him. “That’s it, huh?”

“That’s it.”

Before he can think twice, before he can wonder whether this is an appropriate thing to do with the new God or not, Dean takes a step forward and pulls Jack into a hug. After a moment, Jack relaxes against him and hugs him back.

“You did good, kid,” Dean mutters. “Better than any of us could’ve hoped for.”

Jack pulls back and his eyes are shining. “Take good care of each other until you get back here, will you? And say hello to Cas and Sam for me.”

Dean nods. Then he turns towards the portal. Even just the feeling it emanates is repulsive and Dean has to fight every instinct to walk towards it.

Once more unto the breach, indeed.

*

Darkness.

It stretches as far as the eye can see. 

An all-encompassing, endless void, and Dean feels like he’s being swallowed whole. At the same time, there’s this tension running through his entire body, a voice not quite a voice hissing at him, echoing from inside and around him, ‘ _you do not belong here!’._

“Well, tough titties,” Dean mutters, looking around. With no way of knowing where Cas might be, he picks a direction at random. 

He starts walking, and it feels off. Like he’s walking in place but _not_ . He tries running but that just makes him dizzy, makes the tension coil inside his stomach and scream at him, _‘get out!!’_.

“Cas!” he shouts. “Castiel!”

_‘He’s gone! I devoured him. I will devour you too, feel your bones crack between my jaws, drink down your blood and feast on your flesh, if you don’t LEAVE!’_

That last word is loud, ringing through Dean’s body and he snaps his hands over his ears but it’s useless. The noise is _everywhere_.

“ _Cas_!” Dean crouches down, feeling like his skin is tightening all around him, squeezing down his organs. “Cas, please! I’m not leaving here without you, you goddamn idiot, so show yourself before I get blown the fuck apart!”

Something shifts. Dean opens his eyes, unaware that he even closed them in this endless darkness, and _there_.

Blue. Dean blinks, his eyes adjusting, and he’s looking at _Cas_ , crouched down beside him and face inches away. 

“You’re loud,” Cas says.

Dean peers at him. “Huh?”

Cas doesn’t give him an opportunity to adjust. He grabs Dean by the arms, hauls him to his feet. “We need to leave, _now_.”

_‘You’re not going anywhere, Castiel. Did you forget that you belong to me now?’_

“He doesn’t belong to you, asshole,” Dean shouts back but it’s less intimidating than he’d like, since he’s still got his hands covering his ears and is unable to stand quite straight even with Cas’ help. “Just let him go and go back to sleep like a nice little eldritch abomination!”

The Empty screeches and Cas’ hands tighten their grip. 

“I think you’re making it angrier,” Cas says dryly. “Hang on.”

He lets go with one hand, splaying the other wide on his chest. He lurches forwards, as if pulled, and Dean stumbles to keep up with him. Cas is wavering on his feet and Dean reaches out, grabs onto his shoulder to keep him up, to keep them both standing. 

Cas pulls his hand back from his chest and something follows, something blindingly bright. Dean has to look away but he can’t escape because then it starts _singing_ , loud and clear as a bell, drowning out even the yowling of the Empty. 

“Cas, what the fuck are you doing?” Dean shouts but it’s too late.

Cas pulls his hand away from his body, pulls the - grace? that’s what it’s gotta be, right? - away as well, and then he’s throwing it away, chucking it like last week’s garbage.

“Cas,” Dean protests weakly, but it’s drowned in the noise.

“Hang on, Dean,” Cas commands.

Dean does as told, huddling against Cas as the noise becomes overwhelming, as the brightness engulfs them and his skin grows tighter, and _tighter_ -

*

Awareness hits like a ton of bricks, Dean’s body landing hard against cold concrete and a warm weight on top of him, pinning him down. He moans in pain, blindly reaching until he gets his hands under him, and can raise his upper body from the ground. He blinks his eyes open, unable at first to take in his surroundings.

Oh. They’re at the bunker. In the dungeon, more specifically, the exact same place Cas was last snatched from him. Dean inhales, looks down and - sure enough, there’s Cas, sprawled across him and groaning as he slowly comes to.

“Cas?” Dean grabs his shoulder. “You okay?”

Cas raises his head peering up at him. “We - we made it?”

Dean laughs. Can’t help it, the relief bubbling in his chest is so overwhelming. He grabs Cas and the two of them clumsily manage to sit up, still staring at each other like a couple of idiots.

“You saved me,” Cas breathes. 

“Well.” Dean ducks his head, suddenly feeling coy. “I jump-started it. Or I guess, Jack did, technically. I just… woke you up.”

“You saved me,” Cas repeats. He raises his hand, balance fumbling a little as he does so - they’re both like newborn deer, _Christ_ \- and cups Dean’s cheek _._ “I couldn't have done it without you. Not any of it. Not if you hadn’t come, not if you hadn’t refused to leave without me at the cost of your own life.”

“You did the same for me,” Dean reminds him. “And you- you know.”

Cas’ expression dims. He’s still smiling but it’s sad now, resigned. “Yes, I know.”

He goes to lower his hand. Dean’s heart jumps and before he can make a decision about it, he’s grabbing Cas’ hand in his, holding it in place.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to answer,” he says, voice choked. “But you didn’t think you needed it, did you? You said I was something you could never have.”

“Dean-”

Dean shakes his head. “No, shut up. It’s my turn to speak. You are a goddamn moron if you ever thought for one second you couldn’t have me. I’ve been yours for- hell, for more years than I care to count.” He laughs, the sound distorted by the tears already falling down his cheeks. “You have to know that.”

Cas’ eyes widen. “You-”

“Let me finish, asshole. If you’d told me all that earlier then, yeah, I probably would’ve shut down, even with all the time in the world to answer. But this is now, and I’ve lost you too many times to care about my stupid ego or what anyone else fucking thinks.”

Dean swallows. Cas’ eyes are glued to his, the blue of them made all the brighter for the unshed tears. Even now, Dean can feel himself bucking under the pressure of his own expectations, of the expectations of every damn person who ever wanted him to be something he’s not.

“I love you,” he finally manages, voice hoarse. “I do, Cas, fuck, you have to know I-”

He’s cut off by warm lips on his. He freezes at first then melts into, melts into Cas and his kiss, such a long time coming and yet not a moment too soon.

They part just as Dean hears thundering steps in the distance, coming closer. Dean smiles.

“I think we’ve been found,” he says.

Cas smiles back at him. Leans in, steals one more short kiss. “This isn’t over.”

“Not by a long shot,” Dean agrees.

They’re getting to their feet just as the doors bust open, as Sam enters with his shotgun raised, Eileen just behind with her glock. They pause at the doorway, expressions stunned, and Dean finds himself grinning.

“Hey, Sammy. Jack says hi.”

*

They settle down in the war room once it’s all over. Once Dean and Cas have been put through the tests, once all the hugs and explanations have been exchanged, once Miracle has gotten the chance to give Dean his own slobbery welcome and Cas a wary hello.

(“You got a dog?”

“Look at him, Cas! Like I was gonna turn away that lovable face!”) 

They’ve each got a beer in hand, courtesy of Dean’s last trip to the grocery store before he bit the big one for the second-to-last time.

(“Yeah, no more second chances. Jack promised.”

“How is he?”

“He’s growing into the job. He’ll be a hell of a lot better than the last boss, let me tell you.”)

Eileen leads a toast to Jack and they drink to him in solemn silence. Then Sam moves onto telling them what they’ve been up to since Dean died - not much, since it’s only been a week - with Eileen chipping in on status reports from their various friends and allies.

“We were meant to have dinner with Jody and the girls tomorrow,” Sam tells them. “A sort of memorial to you, Dean.”

“Hey, what’s better than a memorial where you can memorialize to the guy in person?” Dean quips.

Cas kicks him underneath the table. Dean retorts by hooking his ankle around Cas’ foot, keeping it in place pressed against his own.

“We should still go,” Sam agrees. “Just maybe explain the whole thing to her before she sees you up and about again.

Dean waves his hand. “Eh, she should be used to me coming back from the dead by now.”

They finish their beers, moving onto their second bottles and inconsequential small talk before someone finally works up the nerve to mention the elephant in the room.

“So, Cas,” Sam says. “Are you human now for good?”

Dean shakes his foot loose from Cas’ to kick his little brother underneath the table. Sam shoots him a glare, kicking back. 

“I am,” Cas answers before things can involve into a Winchester kick-fest. “The Empty swallowed my grace whole. There is no getting it back from that.”

Dean shifts, guilt squirming in his gut. He should’ve found another way to Cas out, he knows, some way to get _all_ of him. Before he can spend too long chastising himself, Cas lays a hand over his on the table.

“I knew what I was doing,” he tells Dean. “The Empty never would have let me go while I still had it. It couldn’t be helped.”

Dean frowns. “I could’ve-”

“No,” Cas interrupts. He gives Dean a patient smile. “No, you couldn’t have. There was no other way. It doesn’t matter, when it comes to heaven and humanity I made my choice a long time ago. There is no place I would rather be than right here.”

Dean swallows. “Well. We’d rather have you here than anywhere else.”

Sam raises his bottle, smiling. “To family?”

“To family,” Cas echoes, raising his own bottle. “And to love.”

“And to the Winchesters,” Eileen adds, clinking her bottle against Cas’ as he nods in agreement.

“To all of us,” Dean amends. “To all four Winchesters, still hanging in there.”

Eileen flushes happily at that, leaning against Sam’s chest. Cas beams at Dean and impulsively, Dean reaches for his free hand underneath the table and takes it. Cas grabs it back, intertwining their fingers. 

It’s not a happy ending, Dean knows. It’s so much better. It’s a happy here and now, the future stretching before them unknown, filled with endless possibilities.


End file.
